Under The Shining Sun
by furrydan
Summary: A story where a broken protagonist tries to fix the world around her, in the most broken way possible. SI-OC!


**I do not own Naruto. If I did then I wouldn't really be a human.**

The first thing I saw after my death was the blurry figure of a nurse dressed in white.

With greying hair and a pair of square-rimmed spectacles on a slightly crooked nose, the stern expression on her face was downright terrifying. So much so that a light whack on my buttocks brought me to tears, making me lose every amount of emotional control I had developed in the twenty years I had lived.

It was only a few minutes later did I stop crying, and looked around to see where I was. It didn't look like a hospital, but rather a small countryside hut lit by oil lamps.  
I quickly found out that I couldn't really move my head, which felt like a boulder connected to my neck. Upon my squirming, the nurse who had peered on me earlier lifted me up and held in me in her large arms, as if I were a tiny infant.

I blinked twice, then once again for extra measure before controlling a panic attack. I was an infant? What? How?

My frantic questions were left unanswered, as I was then laid next to a red-haired woman, with a sweaty face nearly matching her tomato-red hair. She stroked her fingers lightly over my cheeks, gazing at them with warm and tender eyes. She muttered something in a sarcastic tone, in a language unknown to me, as she lightly pulled on my hair. Suddenly her face scrunched up in worry, her teal eyes showing several ounces of fear and disbelief, and within seconds I found myself in the arms of another figure, this time a blonde with steely blue eyes. He looked angrily at a scene behind me, his heavy frown promising pain.

Then came another voice, this one dark and serious, speaking in threatening tones.

My carrier seemed to lose a bit of his rage, which was instantly replaced by worry. The man holding me said a few words, before jumping straight into the air.  
I felt something gently placed next to me, before the scene in front of my eyes changed, and I found myself in a different room. Unable to control my fear, hot tears once again started flowing down my face.

A moment later I was put on a small bed, along with the weight from earlier. Testing the limits of my peripheral vision, I found myself next to a white bundle of cloth with blond tufts poking out of the top. It was a baby.

The baby was warm and comforting, as if I were sitting near a heater on a cold winter morning. I purred lightly, radiating pure bliss as I tried to shuffle myself closer. However, I found myself unable to move my legs, barely able to wriggle them around in the confines of the cloth around me.

Suddenly I was hit by an intense pressure, as if I were being crushed under a mountain of hate, unable to move my body which was being squashed by the sheer rage directed at me. I was unable to breathe, as if someone had put their foot on my windpipe.

I suddenly my baby heater being pulled away from me, and then proceeded to bawl my eyes out as I hyperventilated in the chaos.  
I spent what felt like hours in pain, as I cried to the point where no tears came. Suddenly the overwhelming pressure disappeared, as if had never been there after, leaving me unconscious.

When I woke up again, I was alone. I felt dazed and could feel the start of a massive headache. My body felt sore as if I had been pounded onto the floor several times.

Fear set into my heart as I observed my dark surroundings. There weren't any lights, except for a small amount of moonlight which had filtered down through the cracks in the roof.

My vision was blurry and dry from the tears, and a salty burning sensation had set in making me feel even worse. I was scared, no terrified of the unknown around me.  
Was that an earthquake? Who were those people? What happened?

Question after question piled into my mind, but were all left completely unanswered.

I was all alone in the darkness, whimpering like a whipped puppy. Forcing myself to move, I managed to free my hands from the restrictive blanket around me. A tiny hand slipped into my vision, causing me to stare at it in shocked silence. I twirled my fingers, only to find the hand mirroring my movements. It was pudgy and small, with delicate white skin and an almost frail appearance. Just like a baby's To me, it was what one called a reality breaking moment.

I began screaming, my mind overwhelmed by confusion, grief, and tiredness. I felt a myriad of emotions, each clashing to gain dominance. Eventually, I succumbed to exhaustion and once again lost consciousness.

When I came to, the blond baby was next to me again. There was a ceiling above me, meaning I was finally in a proper bed. Or rather judging by the wooden handles on the side, a crib.

I cuddled to the baby next to me, trying to turn to the side to look at him. Failing, I instead moved my hand over his face, touching the weird whisker-like black marks on his cheeks. They were soft, like an additional layer of skin. I tried rubbing them while trying to control my tiny, not-so dexterous fingers from poking it in the eyes. The light happy noises that followed, which made me smile. The infant was cute after all.

Suddenly I was stopped by a large pair of hands, which carried me up away from my new toy. Wanting to escape, I tied wriggling my way out, only to be caught firmly and turned upwards. I didn't let up, once again trying to slip through its fingers.

I looked up to see an old man, with greying brown hair and a slightly wrinkled face. His expression was placid, blank like a slate as he looked down at me. He then raised an eyebrow, as if amused by my antics.

Unfortunately for him, I didn't share his sentiments, once again attempting to reach the baby whose cheeks I had been rubbing. It was like petting a cat or stroking a dog's coat, which was really fun.

However, before I could move, something was pushed into my mouth. The elder holding me held a bottle in his other hand, which was filled with a white colored liquid. I tried biting into the soft rubber of the sipper, but quickly noticed my lack of gums. The warm white liquid slowly spilled out of it, dripping into my mouth. 'Milk' my mind supplied as I continued drinking the sweet liquid ferociously, like a starving lion.

Only after I had emptied almost half of the bottle did I feel full. I stopped drinking and tried removing the bottle from my mouth, causing some of the milk to spill and drip down onto my face.

The old man sighed, as took a tissue and gently wiped the milk off my lips and chin. I gave a loud burp as thanks, which the man didn't appreciate, giving a small frown in response.

He then laid me down, next to the blond infant, who squirmed in delight at my presence. Obviously, I was delighted that such a cute thing had gotten attached to me, since I would have the bragging rights for the rest of its life.

Our reunion was cut short, once again by the old grouch, who took my new admirer away, hopefully, to be fed and not permanently taken away I yawned, noting that he was being fed as well. The half empty white bottle was quickly drained before the kid was returned to me, only this time asleep. How did he do that so fast?

My eyes drooped, as a wave of tiredness washed over me, making me want to pass out. But I resisted until a blanket was placed over us, knocking me into a slumber as the old man left my field of vision.

* * *

I woke up several times after that, each time being either fed or given a light bath before being put back in my crib. Only most of the old man from before was replaced by a person wearing a white mask, with a few red markings all over it. Over time my vision had returned to normal, which made me realize that the man had a mask with markings that made him look like a pig. Was this supposed to be some kind of special childcare service?

My infant friend was almost always next to me, making happy noises crying, and occasionally trying to poke my eyes out. Frustrated I decided to treat the old man who came once in a while as my punching bag. However, my lack of usable arms made it very hard for me to actually punch him, which is why I instead tried to rip his goatee off.

Despite my pity for our poor caretaker, I was unable to control my tears on occasions, especially when my emotions seemed to overwhelm me. It would happen for no rhyme or reason, randomly causing me to break out into tears. I would just sob silently, trying to hold them back, which in turn caused the baby next door to cry as well, the only difference being that he was loud and cranky, which caused the masked person, caretaker, pig guy to feed us, even if we weren't hungry.

There were several times I ended up wetting my underwear, as I had the lost the skill to control my bladder. The disgusting smell, as well as the uncomfortable feeling of warm dampness in my groins, would usually make me want to cry once again, which led to the kid next to me to cry as well.

As hours turned to days, days to weeks, and weeks to months I started to regain my control over my emotions. My muscles grew stronger, and I started regaining all my senses. My previously suppressed cognitive abilities also returned to normal, finally allowing me to try and learn the language being spoken around me.

With my newfound brainpower came the realization that I was currently an adult in an infant's body. An INFANT! I had been reincarnated and was now stuck as an infant. To say I was annoyed would be like saying, Hitler was not a very nice guy. The moment I had my thinking ability returned to me, I wanted to tear my hair out in frustration.

My days consisted of mostly sleeping, a few meals of milk and a bath. It was unbelievably boring, so much so that I wished I hadn't gotten my memories back. I would have been better off a baby till I was three. The extra time on my hands gave me a lot of extra hours to think. Or rather being the only activity I was currently capable of.

Which in turn forced me to revisit the memories of my death. I had barely started thinking about the scene, when I lost all control of my emotions and started bawling like a screaming goat.

My memories overpowered me, as if throwing me down a cliff of despair, plummeting me to my doom. I felt weak. The people I had left behind haunted me. My mother, friends, my dogs.

Were they fine? Were they crying over my death? Did they lose all hope as well?

I prayed to every deity out there, begging them to help them come to terms with my death. I didn't want them to feel pain over me. They didn't deserve it, the sadness, and the depression. It was my fault I died, too confident in my own strength. It was me who confronted the robber, me who egged him… me who got shot. And yet they were the ones suffering. I started trembling as fear and sadness grasped my heart.

My mother had grown old, and after being divorced had been abandoned by her family. She had worked herself to near death to get me into college, hoping that I would be able to return the favor once she died. But I died! I died and left her all alone. Oh god! She would be so devastated. I was her only remaining family. The one person she could rely on. And I failed her yet again.

I had already started hyperventilating, worry choking my frail windpipe, as even more depressive thoughts seeped in.

And what about my dogs? Were they going to be fine, all alone and hungry? My mother wouldn't able to take care of them. They would become strays, won't they? Jack might be able to survive alone. He was a tough purebred German Shepard with a jaw strong enough to rip through a man. He was probably resourceful enough to eat out of the tras…sh!

But Tyler was a pug. He wasn't meant to be a stray. He was small and tiny, the size of a stuffed doll. He would be devoured by the bigger dogs. That's if he didn't die of starvation first.

Each thought felt like a boulder on my chest. Weighing a thousand tons trying to crush me like the rotten bug I was.

And it was all because I was too confident that I would be able to stop a petty thief. I felt retarded, stupid, like an absolute prick who didn't deserve to live. Maybe that was why I was reincarnated. To suffer the sins of my past. To slowly lose my mind, bearing the weight of my actions.

And what about my friends? Would they be fine? We were as tight as a pack of wolves, almost like brothers and sisters. Would they be able to get over my death? Would they help Mother?

It wasn't their fault I was an idiot. Hell, they told me several times that I should've taken life more seriously. But I didn't listen to them, and they paid for it.

In the end, all I could do was repeat an unheard sorry. Their angry voices permeating through my mind only solidified my guilt. I wanted to die, to cry, and to be hugged. For someone to just come up and say 'It's okay'. I wanted help. I needed help.

Suddenly warmth spread all over my body, comforting me. I felt tiny arms around my shoulders, holding me protectively. It was the baby next to me, radiating heat like a fireplace, scaring away the cold despair that hung to my heart earlier.

The kid was asleep. He didn't even know what he was doing. But at that moment he became a lifeline, saving me from myself. It was a simple coincidence, yet it felt like fate. I couldn't help but smile, even at the face of great loss.

I swore at that moment to live. If not for myself, then for the kid who saved me from myself. I would carry the boulders of my past life, to help this one succeded in his. I'll help him not make the same mistakes I did.

 **AN: Thank you for reading the first chapter of my story. I have great plans for this work and hope to be able to make it as entertaining as the great SI fics out there. I would also like to state that I got inspiration from other great stories like Vapors and Lizard Brain. I have only recently started writing and am not very experienced so any kind of positive criticism is appreciated. Well then have a nice day. Ja ne!**


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